


softer, softer

by mickeysdean



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Affection, Bipolar Disorder, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysdean/pseuds/mickeysdean
Summary: “Softer,” he says quietly, guiding Mickey’s hands to his own bruised waist. He leans their foreheads together.“Softer,”he whispers, one more time. Just so Mickey knows.-Or, Ian teaches Mickey's hands how to be gentle.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 12
Kudos: 184





	softer, softer

_you’re proving_

_how weak you are,_

_by being harsh to others._

_it’s being gentle_

_that requires strength._

“Hey,” Ian says, as Mickey crowds him into the wall, hands and lips moving as fast as they can, nearly bruising. Adrenaline from what he’s just done driving his movements, the fear weighing down his heart. 

_“Mick,”_ he pushes him back, just a bit, just enough to look into his eyes. 

Mickey looks kind of lost, just standing there. His hands hover around Ian’s body, unsure. The cuts on his forehead and cheek make a pain settle in Ian’s chest. 

“Softer,” he says quietly, guiding Mickey’s hands to his own bruised waist. He leans their foreheads together. _“Softer,”_ he whispers, one more time. Just so Mickey knows. 

He reaches for Mickey’s face. Holds it between his hands, runs a thumb over his cheek, gliding softer, somehow, when he runs over the cuts. 

“Yeah?” Ian asks, his smile hurting his face. 

Mickey’s breath is coming out uneven and shakily, and he pulls back to stare down at his own hands on Ian’s body, the adrenaline fading. But still, he nods, says “Yeah,” with his heart in his throat. 

Ian tilts his face back up, bumps his nose against Mickey’s softly, presses their foreheads back together, and tells him, “You got it, Mick, don’t worry. You’re being soft.” 

Mickey nods again and presses forward the tiniest bit to press his lips back to Ian’s. Ian melts into it more than ever, the feeling of Mickey’s hands running up and down his sides softly making his knees weak.

-

Mickey puts his cigarette out in the ashtray in front of him. His hands haven’t stopped shaking since Fiona was here, telling him: _high highs followed by low lows over and over again_ and _he could end up suicidal_ and _he may have to be hospitalized._

He drinks the last of his beer, shoves the bottle across the table and heads to his room. 

Ian hasn’t moved. He’s still curled into Mickey’s side of the bed, sheets drawn up to his waist even though he’s shaking from the cold of the room. 

Mickey crosses the room as soon as he notices, pulls the sheet up to Ian’s neck, but Ian flinches back and Mickey’s heart drops to his feet. 

_Softer, softer,_ he remembers from the night he came out. 

_Softer, softer,_ he remembers. How Ian gentled his hands, pressed them softly to his own body, and he thinks he can try again.

He sits down on the side of the bed closest to the wall, brushes Ian’s hair off his forehead. Runs his hand down the back of Ian’s head, brings it around to cup his cheek. His breath rattles around his lungs and his heart pounds in his chest. 

“Am I being soft enough?” he whispers, feeling stupid. He’s never done this before, not without Ian’s help. No one’s ever touched him like this before Ian, and he sure as hell wasn’t using his hands to be gentle before Ian, either. 

Ian doesn’t say anything. He can’t, really. But he nods and leans into Mickey’s hand, so Mickey guides his head back to the pillow and leaves his hand resting against Ian’s face. 

_It’s not fucking fair, he thinks._ He’d just come out, given Ian exactly what he wanted, and now Ian’s sick. He’d just started learning to be gentle, how’s he supposed to keep going without Ian’s help? 

He shifts down on the bed, reaching out for Ian, who comes willingly into his arms, presses his face into Mickey’s neck with the last bit of energy he has. 

Mickey breathes out, heart slowing, and runs his hand down Ian’s back, the other arm coming to wrap around Ian’s body. 

“Still gentle?” 

Ian nods, so Mickey continues. He runs his hand up and down Ian’s back, stopping every few minutes to trace shapes into his skin with his fingers, like he’s felt Ian do. It doesn’t take long after that, for Ian’s breathing to even out, for his body to relax further into Mickey’s, for his eyes to slip shut. 

_“Fuck,”_ he curses. His eyes burn. He can do this. He can keep teaching himself to be gentle, if it makes Ian relax that way, the most he has in days. He can keep teaching himself, at least until Ian is okay enough to take back over.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all at 2am after imagining a scene similar to the one of Fiona and Jimmysteve in the pilot where he tells her to move slower. 
> 
> Sorry this is so short, but I'm working on a longer fic that I'm going to post soon. 
> 
> Any constructive criticism is welcomed!!


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